


Sherlock Versus the Eyelash Curler

by InterruptingDinosaur



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, Molly takes charge, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:12:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterruptingDinosaur/pseuds/InterruptingDinosaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For his latest case, Sherlock puzzles over the function of an eyelash curler. Of course, Sherlock, being Sherlock, decides he want to try it out too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Versus the Eyelash Curler

**Author's Note:**

> Written Pre-Series 3. Cross posted from ff.net with some minor edits and changes towards the end.

The victim, a woman of twenty-two, had died of a sharp blow to the head. It was quite obvious. There was a bloody wound on the left side of her head. The angle suggested it had come from someone taller than her; the depth of the impact suggested the wielder of the murder weapon was someone quite strong.

Sherlock studied the cadaver on the cold metal table with his usual cold scrutiny.

"I brought coffee," a cheerful voice announced followed by the sound of slamming doors.

Sherlock groaned inwardly, but replied, "very good. Thank you, Molly."

He barely had time to look up before he felt the blunt corner of a cart shove itself into his side. Medical instruments went flying through the air. The force of the blow forced him to keel over and let out a small cough of surprise.

Molly's collision with the cart had caused a sharp pain to shoot through her hip. The jolt had surprised her so much that the muscles in her right hand relaxed, and the coffee cup succumbed to gravity. If it had been Molly's lucky day, the coffee would have avoided completely soaking her chest and ruining her favorite sweater, and instead. But, of course, it wasn't.

Molly squeaked. It wasn't until Sherlock spoke that Molly realized he was still in the room.

"If you could please take your awkward behavior elsewhere. It would be most appreciated since I am in the middle of conducting an examination."

"Sorry," Molly said as she rubbed her sore hip, although, irritated, she did not really mean it.

Sherlock slightly tipped his head, and turned back to the examination table without a second thought.

Molly scowled as she went to fetch some paper towel from a cupboard. She dabbed at her white cardigan, attempting to salvage what she knew was already ruined. Molly berated herself. It had cost almost a whole month's salary. _You saved up for this. You bought it at that nice shop where the mannequins can make even the most horrendous outfit look good, Molly. And what do you do on the first day you wear it? Spill coffee on it trying to impress Sherlock Sodding Holmes. Sherlock, who probably didn't even notice. What's he doing right now anyway as I mop this puddle off the floor? Who the talking to the hell is he talking about anyway?_

Sherlock was, in fact, mumbling to himself. When Molly perked her ears up to listen, she heard: "victim was doing something with her right hand, but what?"

He was silent for a moment. Molly feared that he might have discovered her eavesdropping, so she went back to halfheartedly wiping the white laboratory floor. But Sherlock had forgotten of Molly's existence. He was too fixated on the victim's mysterious last moments. "Couldn't have been writing. No, no, there are no pressure marks on her wrist. No indent in her palm."

Molly pulled her head up again. She slowly stood up from her position on the ground, and busied herself with pretending to throw away the soaked paper towels. She pretended to casually glance at the victim's right hand.

"She was holding something in her hand," Sherlock continued. "Scissors? No! There was nothing she could have been possibly cutting."

On her way to the garbage bin, Molly took the opportunity to gain a better view of the body. The victim was pretty, the kind of girl Molly always aspired to be. Beautifully styled blonde hair, well-sculpted eyebrows. Traces of lipstick still found on her lips suggested that it must have been the kind that cost a fortune.

As Molly silently reminded herself that she was envying a murder victim, she noticed something odd about the face. The woman's hair had been done with care, and she had lipstick and blush on, but only one eye was done. The lashes of the left eye were curled to envious proportions. However, the right eye did not quite match.

"She was curling her eyelashes right before she died," Molly thought aloud.

"What?"

"The girl, she was using an eyelash curler before she died. See? She only had enough time to do one eye." Molly pointed to the left eye with a sense of self-satisfaction.

"Hm," Sherlock said as he leaned over the body again, disappointed that he had missed something. "Eyelash curler," he said again in a tone that one would use when one encountered an unfamiliar foreign phrase. 

"You thought it was scissors because eyelash curlers are shaped sort of like scissors." Molly ran to her purse at the corner of her room, and dug around to whip out her own eyelash curler. She demonstrated the use by slipping her fingers through the appropriated holes, and clamping shut on her eyelashes.

Sherlock was transformed instantly and was truly enchanted. He had never seen such a device, nor had he any idea how to use it. "Fascinating," he said, watching as Molly did her demonstration. After she finished, he held out his hand towards her. "May I?"

"What?" Molly wasn't sure how else to respond.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "May I try out your device?"

"You… want to try out my eyelash curler?" Molly asked as she handed the object over, dumbstruck.

"That is what I just said," Sherlock replied as he greedily snatched the curler from her hands.

He looked satisfied as he looped his long, pale fingers through the finger holes. With gusto, he raised the device up to his eye and clamped down on his lashes.

Molly gazed at him in shock before she was interrupted by a squeal.

Sherlock had the eyelash curler held away from him as if it had just turned into an animal and bit him. Molly noticed that his fingers were still squeezing the clamp closed. She gently pulled his hand down, and separated his fingers. The clamp opened, and small eyelashes floated towards the ground like delicate snowflakes.

Sherlock whimpered. Molly looked up, and saw tears forming in his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me." 

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped, as he hastily rubbed his eyes.

Molly stifled a giggle as she retrieved her eyelash curler from him, before he could do anymore damage. "You must have caught the skin of your eyelid."

Sherlock groaned as he touched his eye. "I think I need some ice."

"What? No, you don't. It's only a few eyelashes."

"For your information, 'few' is classified as 'three', and with my own eye as evidence, I definitely pulled out more than three. I would say that ice would be most needed," he said emphatically while pointing at his eye. 

"Don't be ridiculous. No one will notice that you're missing a few lashes." Actually, she was pretty sure that they would if they got close enough, but for the sake of the grown-man who was having borderline panic attack, it was probably best not to mention it.

Sherlock ignored her, running over the mirror above the corner sink, examining his grievous injury. "Women are so strange. Why would you submit yourselves through such methods of torture for beauty? Obviously ripping out eyelashes never helped you."

"Oi, no need to get vicious!" Molly said. "And besides, you're not supposed let go when you move away from your face." She tugged on Sherlock's arm; its owner had covered his eye and was beginning to give to give a sense pouting.  

"Where are we going?"

"To get some lunch," Molly said with finality.

When they walked in, the lunch lady working in the hospital canteen took one look at Sherlock and snorted. "Was it Sergeant Donovan? 'Cause if it is, Jack owes me a tenner." She nodded to the cashier further down the line. 

"Donovan? Tenner? Is there some sort of wager that I am not aware of?!"

Wincing, Molly explained. "There's a bet among some of the hospital staff about who would finally snap and... punch you."

Affronted, Sherlock removed his hand to reveal a _not_ -bruised eye. "I will have you know that what I have endured is worse that a physical blow the face!" he shouted to the lunch lady. 

Fearing that it would only get worse, Molly steered Sherlock to one of the plastic tables before he could start his deductions into the woman's personal life. "Sit. And if you move, you'll lose the lashes on the other eye too," Molly said sternly before she ran out of courage and realized that this was _Sherlock Bloody Holmes_ that she was threatening. Sherlock did as he was told, though because he was actually intimidated by the threat or surprised by Molly's assertiveness, she wasn't sure.

In the end, Sherlock did get his ice. Molly shoved the little baggie of ice into his eye which caused Sherlock to grumble and protest even further. He reminded her of fer three-year-old nephew who was given to pout and whine when things didn't go his way. 

By the end of the day, when John came to pick up his flatmate, he found Sherlock sitting in the lab, with Molly, surrounded by the empty yogurt containers that Molly had been steadily plying him with. In her company, this was the longest Sherlock had gone without making any sort of self-serving or sarcastic remark. Who knew yogurt and grapes would do the trick nicely. 

"Did you know," Molly said when John approached the work table, "that you've neglected to feed your flatmate for three days? He may seem like a machine, but he's quite the baby."

"What—" was all John managed to sputter.

Sherlock, with a fresh bag of ice still pressed to his eye, was furiously spooning yogurt into his mouth with his free hand.

"And he's developed quite the taste for cherry yogurt, I've discovered. And seedless grapes."

"How did you get him to eat? He never listens to me!" John was flummoxed. 

"Oh, he's been pouting."

"Why?"

"Let's just say I had to promise never to let my eyelash curler anywhere near him again."

"Right," John said scratching his head. He'd learned that it was better to not question things when it came to Sherlock. "Well. I'll pay you back for all the food."

"Oh, it's no problem. It's been fun to spend the day with him. I actually managed to get quite a bit of work done. And we managed to solve his latest case too."

"We better go home now. He's probably tired from being on the case all day. I'll have to put him down for a nap."

Sherlock snarled as he finished the last bits of yogurt. A smudge of pink yogurt marked his right cheek, but he took no notice. He arose from the table, ready to leave.

"Sherlock, what do you say to Molly?" John said, blocking Sherlock's leave.

"What?"

"Sherlock, we've talked about manners."

Sherlock groaned and turned around. "Thank you, Molly. It has been a most splendidly _enlightening_ day," he said, placing emphasis on his words as if Molly couldn't already pick up on his biting sarcasm.

Molly smiled. "You're welcome," she replied before Sherlock dramatically exited.

"Yup, that's about about as polite he gets," said John with a final smile. "Thanks for looking after him, Molly."

As John left too, Molly made a mental note never to let Sherlock near her hair iron in the future.

 


End file.
